He didn't sleep much that night.
The straw itched. The cloth didn't hold warmth. But it wasn't the discomfort that kept him awake.It was the plan.
Lord Denval.The name echoed like a locked door.
He needed to find a way in — but not through force or begging. It had to be elegant. Purposeful. As if he belonged there already.
He rose before dawn, washed in a cold basin behind the hall, and left before the others stirred. He had no connections. No coin. But he had Riva.And now, he had a name.
By midday, he returned to her shop. She didn't ask where he'd been. Just handed him a cloth-wrapped bundle — the prototype.
The board was smooth, foldable, with a brass clasp. The pieces nestled inside in felt-lined slots. Even the unfinished set looked expensive.Caleb held it like a weapon.
"You've got three days," Riva said, crossing her arms. "After that, I want it in a noble's hands or back on my shelf."
He nodded. "You'll have your answer."
She didn't smile. But she watched him longer than usual before turning back to her work.
Caleb tucked the board into his satchel with care. It fit snugly, heavy but not cumbersome. The polished wood caught the morning light like water.
He stepped out into the street, joining the flow of carts and boots and barking merchants. But his eyes weren't on the market anymore.They were on the marble arch.
He returned to the same bench as the day before. The same shaded corner where messengers waited. He sat with his back straight, arms crossed over the satchel, pretending to read a crumpled flyer someone had thrown away.He watched.
Two men in clean brown coats entered the noble gate without being stopped. A woman with gold thread in her braid carried a covered tray, nodded to the guards, and passed through.
He began to sketch symbols in the margins of the flyer — habits, patterns, emblems. Most of it wouldn't matter.But one detail would.
In the early afternoon, a tall servant exited with a leather scroll case under his arm and began talking to a vendor across the road.
Caleb stood, approached slowly, and let the crowd carry him closer.The scroll case bore a crest: a hawk circling a broken spear.
He'd seen that mark before — etched into the handle of a knife in Riva's shop.
He paused, smiled to himself, and turned away.
He didn't have an invitation.But maybe someone he knew already had a foot inside.
He couldn't walk into the noble quarter as he was.So he decided to become someone else.
He spent the morning watching the nobles from afar — their habits, their servants, their armor-stitched coats. But what caught his eye were the rare ones who didn't fit the mold. A merchant from the east, escorted by guards in green sashes. A scholar wrapped in flowing robes, speaking through a translator.
These men didn't blend in.They stood out — and yet, they were welcomed.
That was what he needed.
Caleb returned to the lower districts and searched for cloth — not quality, but possibility. At a forgotten stall near the tannery wall, he found what he was looking for: a long, deep-blue tunic with frayed hems, a pale sash, and a bolt of unused fabric dyed charcoal gray.
He worked that night by lantern light.
He reshaped the tunic, added length to the sleeves, stitched a stiff upright collar from scrap lining. The robe hung long over his boots, cinched at the waist by the broad sash. Over it, he layered the gray cloth like a sleeveless vest, folding it to hang diagonally across his chest.
The result was simple. Fluid. Quietly commanding.
He wasn't copying a noble of this city.He was creating a noble from elsewhere.
He finished by oiling his boots and tying his hair in a knot at the back of his head, wrapping a narrow strip of cloth across his brow — not a crown, but something unfamiliar enough to suggest status.
By morning, when he looked into the cracked mirror at the back of Riva's shop, he barely recognized himself.And neither would they.
The guards didn't stop him.
They looked. Long enough. One of them opened his mouth, as if about to ask something — then hesitated. Caleb's robe, the way he walked, the quiet weight of the satchel at his side… none of it screamed beggar.
He gave them a polite nod. Just enough eye contact to suggest confidence, not challenge.And then he passed through the arch.
Inside the noble quarter, the city changed.
Streets widened. Walls gleamed. Trees lined stone walkways, pruned to geometric perfection. No shouting. No carts. Just calm voices and polished steps.
Caleb walked slowly, as if he belonged. As if he had nowhere urgent to be.
He had asked around. He knew roughly where Lord Denval's estate was — a tall manor near the reflecting pool, guarded but not fortress-like.Getting inside wasn't the first step.Being seen was.
He chose a shaded stone bench directly across from the estate's courtyard gate and sat. From his satchel, he drew the game board. Unfolded it. Set down the pieces — smooth, precise, polished.
Then he began to play.Alone.Move by move.
Each placement deliberate. Thoughtful. As if this were not a game, but a ritual. A dance.
Within minutes, a servant slowed as she passed. Another paused briefly, then moved on.Two more walked by without comment — but looked twice.
Caleb didn't smile. Didn't perform.He simply existed.Elegant. Calm. Different.And unmistakably visible.
He reset the board.Not because the game was finished — but because someone new was watching.
A boy, no older than ten, stood near the edge of the courtyard. Dressed in clean linen, a ribbon tied at his wrist. A noble's page, maybe. Or the child of a steward.
Caleb made another move. Quiet. Fluid.The boy took a hesitant step closer.Then another.
Caleb didn't acknowledge him.He simply played.
White rook to center.Black knight to the edge.
He reset the board again, slower this time, placing each piece with care. As if each one held a story.
The boy sat on a low stone planter across from him and said nothing.
Another passerby slowed.A third stopped, then whispered to a guard.
Still, Caleb did not speak. He wasn't a merchant, nor a performer.He was a presence.
The robe helped — long and clean, flowing gently in the afternoon breeze. The satchel at his side remained untouched now, as if its contents had served their purpose.And they had.
By the fourth game, two more children had gathered behind the first. One pointed at a piece. Another mimicked a move in the air.Still, no words.But the message was spreading.
This was not some street gambler.This was something else.Something worth talking about.
He was resetting the board for the sixth time when the man appeared.
Not a guard.Not a noble.But clean. Well-fed. Grey hair tied back, tunic pressed, eyes sharp as a blade left out too long in the cold.
He stood across from Caleb and looked at the game without asking permission.
"I've seen that piece before," the man said.
Caleb didn't look up. "Then you already understand more than most."
A pause."You play alone?"
"Until now."
The man stepped closer. His hands moved with familiarity — he knew games, if not this one. He studied the arrangement.
"This is not a local variant."
"It's not from here."
"I see."
Another silence passed. The man nodded once, then sat.They played.Not a word.
Each move drew more attention. The children retreated. A servant paused on the steps of the manor. A voice called from a window, then fell silent.
Caleb lost that first game.Deliberately.
He offered a small nod of respect, stood, and folded the board slowly.
The man stood too.
"I serve the house of Lord Denval," he said. "Your presence has been noted."
"That's all I hoped for."
The man hesitated. Then:"Return here tomorrow. Same hour."
Caleb bowed slightly, one hand over the satchel.And walked away, cloak trailing behind him like the last line of a forgotten tale.
The light was fading when Caleb returned to the workshop.
Riva didn't look up from her carving.
"Well?" she asked, voice flat.
He set the board on the table. Untouched. Clean.
"They watched," he said.
She raised an eyebrow."Someone played."
Now she looked at him."And?"
"I'm going back tomorrow."
A long pause.Then Riva leaned back, folded her arms, and let out a slow breath.
"Good," she said. "Because I've started on the second set."